The Highwayman
by FuneralCricket
Summary: A narrative adaptation of the poem "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes.


Crreeakkk… Soft, gentle hands opened the highest casement of the fine old inn. The moon, as ghostly as Spanish galleons at night, splashed moonlight onto the pale face of Bess Hammond, daughter of Connecticut's most famous landlord.

Behind the tall, slender girl of sixteen stood a mahogany dresser with a finely cooked dinner, and next to it was a traditional bed, the sheets freshly washed. Downstairs, many servants were working their hardest to keep the inn tidy, comfortable, and luxurious.

Her father's inn, a popular stop for travelers journeying through the hills of Connecticut, was the only home she had ever known. She had never traveled more than a mile from it. She was safe here, with a happy life, a nice home, and a loving father. Who could ask for more?

Being sheltered, pampered, and comforted was not what Bess wanted. She didn't want this, being cocooned up and never being allowed to explore. Everything in her life was always controlled. Every day was the same: posing as a graceful beautiful maiden, in the hope a handsome young man who visited would marry her. Nothing the slightest bit disturbing ever reached her ears. Anything she owned had once been her mother's.

Even the love knot she had been braiding her hair with had once been her mother's. She tore it from her silky long black hair and hurled it to the ground. She thrust her head into the night, breathing the fresh air, her eyes hungrily absorbing the dark hills. She whispered out to the moon and the stars, "I want to be free! I want to explore…"

As Bess spilled her desires to the night, below in the stables Tim, the ostler, yanked his grubby shirt out of the horse's mouth. His hair was as moldy as the hay he stuffed into the horses' mouths. After he finished brushing their coats, he leaned against the stable-wicket.

He'd been orphaned since he was five years old. He lived on the streets until he was twenty-five, when he found a job at William Hammond's famous inn. Old Will said that Tim's stable personality was required for working in a stable with horses that had to be guided with a firm, unexcitable hand. Indeed, little stirred the ostler other than the landlord's daughter.

Now, at age sixty, his thoughts strayed to Old Will's daughter, Bess. He loved her willful, playful personality, her beautiful black eyes and red lips, and her soft dresses. The wind suddenly blasted his face in a surge of shadows, making him wince. As it howled among the clumps of trees that dotted the hills, he thought, "If only I could win Hammond's daughter…"

But how could he? He was a man of sixty years, and an ugly one too, he thought, while she was a gorgeous girl of only sixteen years. And as well as being almost four times her age, she had no interest in him, being interested in other men—

Tim leapt up, bumping against one of the horses. Who did Bess love? Surely if he removed that man, she would marry him. She had no interest in him, but if the one she loved disappeared, she would have to marry him. He had heard her father recently: "Bess, soon you will have to be wed. You are nearing that time."

Bess could not marry any of the servants—they were all below her in social status. But Tim was at her same social status; his parents had been famous innkeepers themselves before they died of pneumonia and lost the family fortune. He had not heard of anyone she was engaged to, but if that man was removed, she'd have to turn to him.

Yes, it would all work out. He would remove her lover and marry her. A disgusting smile crept onto his face like a fox.

It was a windy and bitter evening. The ominous sky, the freezing atmosphere, and harsh gusts of God's breath ensured no travelers were on the road; this weather was too much for even the toughest. But of course, there are always exceptions.

The nimble hooves of the magnificent white steed soared inches off the road. Experienced hands guided the reins. The owner of these hands was the lone rider on the path. He looked like a gentleman: a French-cocked hat, britches of fine deerskin, a claret velvet coat, and his prized horse. But this highwayman was no refined nobleman.

Tonight, of course, he had not been able to commit any crimes because of the bleak weather. Still, he loved riding at night, feeling the cool air, alert. He was a very famous criminal, and he had committed most of his crimes in France. And when he sneaked onto a boat to the New World, his fame only increased. He would gladly do anything that would increase his fame; he had a weakness for universal attention.

Ahead he saw the old inn. He had heard of a "miraculous beauty of a girl" at the Hammond inn, which was, obviously, Bess. Bess, having been sheltered all her life, did not know anything about the highwayman. But she would soon know, as her head sticking out of the window looked like a pin on the road of silky moonlight to the highwayman.

He came to a halt outside the inn. Peering up, he saw Bess's hair trailing out of the window. The highwayman watched her gaze out of the casement. Tapping his rapier on the wall and whistling, he got her attention. She looked down, absentmindedly plaiting her hair with the love knot again.

Suddenly, Tim, still leaning against the gate, leapt up. Why was his heart suddenly pounding? He saw shadows in front of the inn. He scurried around and his heart seemed to leap into his throat. Tim knew about the highwayman, and he scrutinized him.

The highwayman gave the landlord's daughter a smile that Tim recognized as very superficial and forced but Bess did not. "My dear, my dear. How do you do? May I introduce myself? I come from an English noble family in Paris. While our riches are vast, we have received little attention."

In fact, the highwayman had come from a famous but near fortuneless French family where every member, including the women, became road robbers at age twelve.

The highwayman swiftly stood on the back of his horse, and, taken by a sudden impulse, said, "I have heard of this inn's hospitality. But everyone I know who stayed at your home said that your breathtaking beauty was what made their lives worth living. May I take the liberty of assuming the same opinion?"

The landlord's daughter hoped it was dark enough to hide her blushing face. The highwayman raised his right hand. Her right hand slipped forward. The highwayman kissed her hand and whispered, "My bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight, but it shall take me a long time to coax its owners to give my rightful payment. If I do not return by dawn, I shall come by the moonlight. I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

Bess shook her head. "Sir—I do not mean to be impertinent, but it has always been my heart's desire to find my own way, to to care for myself. I have a duty to honor what is in my heart; therefore I must refuse your offer."

"But, my sweetheart—why, we could be together! Once I claim my prize, I could take you with me, and let you explore the world to your heart's desire!"

The highwayman's confidence made the landlord's daughter nod. Tim smiled. He could see right through the highwayman's plans, while ignorant Bess could not. He watched greedily as Bess's hand grasped the highwayman's.

Her other hand loosened the love knot, and her hair tumbled through the casement, the perfume with it. The highwayman could feel his face burn like a brand. He quickly turned his head, took his hand from hers and repeated, "Remember: I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell should bar the way. Now I must be off."

Bess nodded quickly. She leaned out as far as safety would allow and dropped her love knot, as a parting gift. The highwayman's face turned even redder. He slipped it into his pocket and trotted off into the night.

In the shadows, Tim still stood, watching the robber leave, probably to commit a crime. That same sly smile, filthier than the entire being of the highwayman, crept onto his face.


End file.
